


Into The Circle

by ruric



Category: NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Community: fic_promptly, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-03
Updated: 2010-10-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22534573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: Written for Kayim's 2010 prompt: NCIS:LA, Deeks/Any, Fingers running through his hair
Relationships: Kensi Blye/Marty Deeks
Kudos: 1
Collections: fic_promptly Fills 2010





	Into The Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kayim's 2010 prompt: NCIS:LA, Deeks/Any, Fingers running through his hair

Sam always sits with a controlled sense of power, he finds a space, stakes his territory and occupies it. You just know, without it being obvious, that Sam's aware of every exit and entrance and potential problem area. Sam's not a small man but he seems to be able to shrink his frame to fit the available space without ever looking crushed. When Sam's present the rest of the team breathe easier, muscles relaxing a little from the perpetual state of readiness.

Callan's more offhand about occupying space. His abandonment issues show in the lack of possessions and a place to call his own and the fact that the team have come into work for the last three months to find him either napping on the couch in the office or emerging from the back of his truck. The team adapted around Callan a long time ago, with his need to sleep for only 3-4 hours and catch up with cat naps. 

Kensi is neatness and precision. Her desk and apartment are tidy, everything has a place and is in it. Sam and Callan tease her, move her stuff around - a coffee cup an inch to the right, a pen left out on her desk rather than put away, papers and files shuffled and re-ordered - to see how long it'll take her to notice. She's sure they have some kind of book running with Eric and Nate but she doesn't want to spoil their game by asking.

But Deeks? 

Deeks sprawls with a careless loose limbed grace totally at odds with the words which seem to tumble from his mouth without ever passing through his brain.

In the office he drapes himself over chairs, slides down until his shoulders rest against the back, long jeans clad legs and scruffy boots extending into the space between desks to trip the unwary. He'll rest a hip against a desk knocking over a stack of files, stand too close to read over Kensi's shoulder, hover to read from Sam's screen. Callan finds him napping on the couch using Callan's rucksack as a pillow and there's an uncomfortable tension for the rest of the afternoon.

Deeks engages Sam in stop-start conversations where potholes open beneath his feet but somehow he always manages not to tumble into them – even when Sam freezes, folds his arms and fixes Deeks with the 1000 yard SEAL stare which reduce most men to a tongue tied silence.

He needles Callan with questions about his past until Callan shuts him down short and sharp and the subject is dropped but the silence never lasts more than a few days. And when Callan shuts him out Deeks turns his attentions to Kensi, teasing her about her tomboy upbringing and her competence with engines and when that gets old he switches to relentless flirting.

He's sprawled out again right now, occupying more space than he needs, limbs starfished wide, the white cotton sheet crumpled around his hips. His skin is tanned, the sudden demarcation of tan line where a wet suit might end and exposed skin begins is as brutal as a cut. But the tan lines aren't the only marks on his skin. They all carry visible reminders of the job they've chosen to do. Deeks looks like a sufer dude because part of him *is* - for all his protestations about being a city boy given the opportunity he'll still slip unobtrusively away to catch a wave.

His chest rises and falls, breathing slow and regular and the smattering of freckles across his nose and shoulders are obvious even in the subdued glow of candlelight.

Sweat dampened hair clings to his forehead, and she reaches out, slides her hand forward feeling it curl around her fingers. He turns his head, rubbing into her palm, blinking sleepily up at her but she knows has fast apparent lethargy can turn to explosive action.

Slipping between the sheets she leans down, breathes into him as he pulls her into a lazy kiss, and under the scent of sweat and sex she can still smell the salt of the open ocean.

"You don't have to try so hard, you're one of us now."

His hand cups her hip, his other arm sliding beneath her fitting himself to her back and he mumbles an almost unintelligible "I know" into her hair.

He's not Dom, he's not a replacement. He could never be and they'd never ask that of him but in his own way he's made the team whole again.

Kensi has many skills and observation is only one of them.


End file.
